


silver in the stars above that shine on everybody

by leigh57



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is more from the stocking fic over at LJ. The complete list of prompts is <a href="http://leigh57.livejournal.com/139488.html">here</a>.</p><p>The title is from "White Is in the Winter Night," by Enya.</p>
    </blockquote>





	silver in the stars above that shine on everybody

**Author's Note:**

> This is more from the stocking fic over at LJ. The complete list of prompts is [here](http://leigh57.livejournal.com/139488.html).
> 
> The title is from "White Is in the Winter Night," by Enya.

He doesn’t even know she’s back.

She took a cab from the airport (an explosion of Christmas insanity, complete with screaming babies, overtired parents, and a Starbucks line so long she’d _almost_ given up and left without the eggnog latte she’s now extremely grateful to be sipping).

She wanted to surprise him.

Now she stands in the navy wool pea-coat he bought her for her birthday and watches them through the window (Devon keeps the glass panes so spotless that she can only be sure they exist because of the dividers).

Ellie’s looking at Devon and laughing, a glass of wine in one hand while the other fiddles with a snowman ornament, rearranging it on the huge tree.

Devon’s behind the counter, mixing drinks. He’s wearing a red and green apron that says, “Soy to the World.” She smirks. (Better than the one he wore at Thanksgiving, which said, “I Rub My Meat For Two Minutes.”)

Chuck and Morgan are jumping around spastic five-year-olds on Red Bull. Must be that Wii Sports Resort game he said something about last week when she was reading a book and pretending to pay attention.

Far away from the boys, Mary’s perched on the edge of the couch, trying to wrestle a pair of tights onto Clara’s pudgy squirming legs. The baby appears to be winning this round.

Sarah looks at the delighted concentration on Chuck’s face.

He’s with his family.

 _Her_ family.

Sort of.

The holidays always make her wonder if there’s a certain age after which you’re hard-wired, tricked out with welded circuitry that can’t be rerouted.

Her entire life has changed since she met Chuck, but she’s still the girl who only sleeps with the gas tank full, with shoes and a pair of jeans ready (under the bed, now, because it’s not something she can explain in words he’ll understand).

Just in case.

She studies Chuck and Morgan, Ellie and Devon, and wonders what it would be like to stand with your back to the door and never think twice about it. She always thinks-

“Walker. I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow night.” Casey’s voice derails her train of thought.

She turns her head. He’s wearing a Santa hat. “I got an earlier-” She can’t even do it. The incongruity of the image wins, and she laughs. “Why the hell are you wearing that hat?”

“Lost a bet,” Casey growls. “Grimes.” The way he says it, the word sounds like a bullet.

“It’s a good look on you.”

“Shut up.”

She does, actually, distracted again by the framed vision in the window.

Chuck’s not flailing anymore. He’s holding Clara (who still isn’t wearing tights, tiny bare toes wiggling), brushing his nose against hers.

“So stop standing out here in that ridiculous coat. It’s eighty degrees.” Casey huffs. “Besides, Bartowski probably has something nauseating to say to you.” He kicks her shoe. “You belong in there.”

She glances up at him, at the white faux fur that frames his face. She steps on his toe and walks toward the door.

Over her shoulder she says, “Oh come _on_ , Casey.” She stops, waits half a second until she’s sure he’s moving forward. The fluffy white tip of the hat smacks his chin. “So do you.”


End file.
